


Fearless on thin ice.

by smartforholmes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Boxing Day, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Ice Skating, M/M, Mycroft is a Softie, Paternal Greg Lestrade, Sherlock and John Save The Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:14:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29789730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smartforholmes/pseuds/smartforholmes
Summary: Together during Boxing Day, the Holmes-Lestrade and Watson-Holmes families plan a trip to an Ice Rink, being Aiden’s first time ever. Discussions and misunderstandings ensue.Based on Mystrade Monday prompt #30 “Are you ready for this?” and #31 “Are you going to talk to me?”.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30





	Fearless on thin ice.

“No,”

“Oh, c’mon now, love,”

“I said no, Greg!”

6-year-old Aiden stood with his ear pressed to his parents’ bedroom door; it was Boxing Day and his dads and he, along with Uncle Sher, John, and Rosie, had accorded to go to a nearby Ice Park, with the excuse of being Aiden’s first time ever. But Mycroft and Greg started having a row from the early morning, just when Aiden was dragged downstairs to have breakfast.

“What are you doing?” A feminine voice startled him, covering his mouth with his palm.

Aiden all, but shouted, “Rosie! You scared me!” He reprimanded, trying to stay quiet and undetected by Mycroft and Greg, whose shouting could still be heard on the empty hallway.

The 11-year-old Watson-Holmes girl shrugged, half worried and half annoyed by the scene her Uncles were performing in an area her little cousin could easily reach. After all, she had the best and worst of John and Sherlock respectively.

Looking down, Rosamund wrapped her arm around Aiden’s shoulders, gently turning him around and marking the way towards the stairs. “Let’s build a snowman, how does that sound?”

Aiden’s blue eyes shined instantly, his excitement notorious on his factions, forgetting completely what he listened to. “Yeah!”

Once downstairs, John greeted them at the entrance of the cabin as he put on a pair of black gloves.

“Where’re you two going?” The blonde questioned, a tentative smile on his face. “You look… A little suspicious.”

Biting her lip nervously, Rosie palmed Aiden’s back and looked at him. “Why don’t you head outside whilst I talk to my dad? I’ll be there before you know it.” Aiden nodded enthusiastically and headed out.

John’s right eyebrow raised slowly, something about his daughter’s behaviour triggering inexistent alarms on his head. “Rosamund Mary Watson-Holmes, what is going on?”

“Aiden heard Uncle Mycroft and Uncle Greg fighting,” The girl sighed, her hands on her hips, mimicking unconsciously John’s position. “I had to distract him.”

Watson cursed under his breath, setting a reminder on his head to smack both of their big heads once they emerge from their bedroom. “Do you know what they were arguing about? Was it related to him in some way?”

Rosamund shook her head, “I couldn’t hear them properly, sorry Daddy,”

John smiled, “That’s alright, princess,” Slowly, Watson gathered her in his arms and kissed the top of her head. “No wonder why Aiden adores you so much.”

“And I adore him,” Rosie confessed, remembering how Aiden earned her heart the moment she saw him for the first time, his breath-taking ocean eyes and tiny frame birthing a sense of protection and devotion towards the youngest Holmes-Lestrade.

A baritone voice interrupted their moment. “A warm embrace in this _infuriating_ weather and I am _not_ invited? Ouch,” Sherlock appeared right behind John, enveloping the blonde with his long arms, burying his nose on his hair.

Rosamund extracted herself from the hug, looking at Sherlock and John with a smile. “I better head out, Aiden has probably frozen to death.”

As soon as they were left alone, Sherlock nuzzled John’s earlobe softly. “What happened?”

“Greg and your brother,” Watson answered simply, hoping Sherlock could deduce it with a single sentence.

The younger Holmes thought for a moment, however, the sound of heels climbing down the stairs and still shushed reprimands interrupted his full analysis; the information he collected being enough to face Mycroft and Greg on the bottom of the staircase.

“Let’s head ou—!“

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?!” Sherlock interfered, his brother and brother-in-law’s face paling automatically. “Having a row with your son nearby? Seriously? Not even _I_ could reach that low.”

“What do you mean? We were in the bedroom and Aiden was—“ Greg tried to argue, John’s raised hand stopping him.

“With his ear pressed to your bedroom door, curious like a normal kid would be.”

Greg swallowed, suddenly afraid they have done something wrong. “But, we were not talking about _him_ explicitly,” Mycroft nodded, agreeing with his husband’s statement.

Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. “It doesn’t matter if you idiots were talking about him or not! Are you aware of all the things he can picture in that creative mind of his?”

The shouting lingered for long moments from both parts, and even if Rosamund thought she was effectively distracting her cousin, Aiden’s brows frowned, forming snowballs with a rather furious grip.

“Aiden?” Rosie mumbled, walking towards him. “Aiden, are you okay?”

The named nodded, but crystalline tears started to fall from his eyes, launching half-formed snowballs past Rosamund. For a moment, Rosie wondered if Aiden was planning to throw a tantrum by the looks of his behaviour, but her cousin’s posture straightened once they saw her and his parents came out of the cabin.

“Let’s go,” Aiden whispered, taking her hand and dragging her to Mycroft’s recently bought Suburban.

“Aiden!” Greg shouted, running in their direction. “Where do you think you’re going, young man? Why the rush?” He asked in a funny tone, tickling his son’s side.

Frowning as he slapped Gregory’s hand away, Aiden broke out, “We would be there already if it wasn’t for you!”

_“Aiden Samuel Holmes Lestrade,”_ Mycroft’s deep tone interrupted the conversation, his not-so-usual-anymore façade darkening his face. “Apologize immediately to your father.”

Ignoring Mycroft’s request, the blue-eyed boy turned around and climbed the Chevrolet Suburban with the help of Rosie, blushing at the surprise and indignity on her uncles’ factions.

“Aiden!”

Silence.

“Samuel!”

John and Sherlock stared at each other, speechless by choice; the elder Holmes looked quite facetious with his hands closed into fists and his face turning into a deep shade of red.

“Aiden Samuel—!”

Greg put a hand on his shoulder, silencing him. “Myc, love, you’ve called him for his full name already and he _still_ ignored you.”

Taking deep breaths to calm himself, Mycroft nodded, and, taking Greg’s hand, both walked to the vehicle, climbing onto the passenger seats. Sherlock was driving, John seating beside him.

“Are you going to talk to me?” Mycroft asked without looking back, his husband daring to look at Aiden’s annoyed expression with crossed arms.

Under his breath, the boy answered, “No.”

“Alright then.”

* * *

Stepping out of the SUV, Greg and Mycroft’s outrage re-started, for the misfortune of the Watson-Holmes family and Aiden.

“Gregory, for the thousandth time, **no** ,”

“Mycroft for the love of God, can’t you at least try?”

“I said no.”

“Why do we have to fight over such a meaningless, stupid, unnecessary thin—?”

“Daddy?” A tiny hand tugged weakly the lower part of the elder Holmes’ winter coat.

Mycroft’s annoyed expression softened and, with a final glare to his husband, turned around, crouching down to Aiden’s height.

“Yes, my love?” He murmured, stroking his son’s soft hair, forgetting completely the row they shared minutes earlier. Aiden’s devastated expression could _always_ destroy any rage on his system.

Blue eyes began to shine with forming tears, Aiden’s lower lip starting to quiver as the first tears fell onto Mycroft’s thumb, which rested on the infant’s bulging cheek. A sob broke loose, and before a wail could escape from his mouth, the elder Holmes gathered Aiden in his arms, standing up and racing towards his husband as Aiden’s tears damped his winter coat.

His sobbing almost fully muffled by the fabric, the civil servant could barely hear Aiden’s broken voice apologizing. “I’m sorry Daddy, I’m so sorry.”

Greg’s face was calm until he noticed the terror on Mycroft’s eyes as he carried Aiden with his right arm, his left hand effortlessly stroking his back and hair in an attempt of consoling the crying boy.

“Myc? Aiden? Baby, what is it?” The retired DCI asked, snatching Aiden from Mycroft’s arms. “Sweetheart, why are you cryin’? Hm?”

Aiden’s small hands fisted on Gregory’s thick jacket, unable to control the endless sobbing he was a victim of. “I–I,” He hiccupped, rubbing his eyes on his father’s shoulder.

Mycroft placed a hand on Aiden’s back supportively, nearly making the 6-year-old cry again. “It’s okay, my darling, take deep breaths, understood?”

The Holmes-Lestrade family moved to a more private area of the Park, conscious people were starting to stare and gossip around them. They ended up inside a Family Bathroom, Aiden seated on the sink and Mycroft and Greg leaning down, comforting the poor boy as best as they could.

“Are you okay to talk, bud?” Gregory asked, brushing a forgotten tear on the corner of the little boy’s eye.

Aiden nodded, “Did I do something wrong?” His voice came out in a soft and broken tone that ripped both of their hearts in half.

“Why are you asking?” Mycroft questioned, astonishment evident on his face. _“Did you?”_

“No!”

Greg’s arms tightened around Aiden’s body, staring at his husband with despair. “Myc, go easy on him.” His attention back on their son, Greg lowered his voice. “What makes you believe that?”

“Y–You were fighting, you’ve been fighting, is it me? For me?”

_This_ , Greg thought, _is the hardest part of parenting._ Children were massive thinkers, looked for answers and explanations in every aspect possible; curiosity and interest becoming a heartbreaking duo when it came to unintentional revelations.

Sherlock and John’s reprimand bloomed on their minds, proving how they were right once again.

“No! Of course not. Aiden,” Mycroft said, grabbing the tiny hand between his. “Never, and I mean, _never_ , believe for a second you have done something wrong without telling us.”

“Then why were you fighting?!” Aiden insisted, angry and confused tears pooling down his blushed cheeks.

Mycroft and Greg shared a look, their constant arguments having a single motive, a _stupid_ motive like Greg had categorized it previously. Both parents were lost in the search for an acceptable explanation for their child. That, until Greg spoke.

“Remember the book I read to you last week?” Aiden’s eyes looked up for a moment before he nodded gently.

“The Wizard of Oz?”

Greg’s smile widened, “Yes, darlin’. Do you remember how Oz had a _massive_ fear for the Witches?” Aiden anew nodded. “Well, some of us have fears of our own, a few more terrifying or innocent than others; they formulate our persona,”

“The reason behind your father and I’s recent discussions is a fear of mine, my dear,” Mycroft added, trying not to melt at the attention Aiden was paying to him. “Whilst you were excited about this new experience, I am quite _exorbitantly terrified_ of Ice Skating.”

Not actually expecting such explanation, Aiden chuckled, Greg soon following at the pure outrage on Mycroft’s face. Belatedly, the three of them ended up laughing, finally being able to move on from the overgrowing misunderstandings that developed between them.

“Alright,” Greg managed to say between chuckles, shrugging off the laughter. “We have to get to John and Sherlock, or else Rosie will kill every single one of us.”

In minutes they were joining Sherlock, John, and Rosie at the benches. All of them wearing their respective ice skates. Aiden’s hands trembled with excitement, Rosamund assuring ice skating was a beautiful sport and hobby to practice.

On the other side, Mycroft felt his legs shaking, an irrational fear that, in his head, there was a high probability the blades won’t hold his weight _–You weight 10.3 stone, Myc, for Christ’s sake!–._ Sherlock’s lips were twitched, a snort threatening to break off, John elbowing him in the ribs recklessly.

“I am aware of the good time you are having with my phobia, brother mine,” Mycroft growled, nearly fainting as Greg’s hand guided him to the entrance of the ice rink, his little brother’s restrained laugh breaking free.

Clearing his throat, Gregory grinned. “Are you ready for this, my loves?” He asked Mycroft and Aiden.

_“Heavens, no!”_

_“Yeah!”_

Sherlock and John entered first –both experienced in skating thanks to Rosamund– as they held hands. Rosie followed, Aiden glued to her back, grasping her jacket.

“It’s okay, Aiden!” The girl promised, taking his hand instead and leading him in a slow rhythm. “Take your time, not letting you go.”

That left Greg and Mycroft, the latter practically boneless against the silver-haired’s side, long legs surrendered the moment ice and sharp blades collided.

“Mycroft! Can you at least help me a little bit?” Gregory complained, his husband’s arms just about to choke him as his bearded right cheek tickled his temple.

The elder Holmes shuddered, “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Gregory.”

At last, Mycroft ended up holding onto his spouse’s waist from behind, giving Greg the chance to slide him through without much effort, closing his eyes swallowing down a huge wave of nausea.

“Daddy! Papa!” Aiden shouted after them, his voice getting closer every passing syllable.

They couldn’t believe their eyes when they turned around.

Aiden, who entered with sudden remorse, was skating in an increasing speed to their direction, an immense smile illuminating his pale and blushed face.

“I did it!”

Mycroft and Greg welcomed him with open arms, both picking him up and drowning him with kisses all over his face and hair.

“We’re soproud of you, sweetheart! You learn so fast!” Greg exclaimed, dropping another kiss on Aiden’s temple. The kid nodded, and skate back to Rosie.

Greg’s smiling fondly at _his son_ playing races with other kids his age, light brown hair waving in the cold air of the day, his laugh flooding the ice rink.

“Gregory, dear,” Mycroft’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

Turning to his husband, Greg smiled, “Yes, darlin’?”

The auburn shrugged, looking far away, searching for Aiden. “I think I could be persuaded to learn how to _ice skate_ ,”

Kissing Mycroft’s lips briefly, Gregory set his forehead upon his, “Someone inspired the Great Mycroft Holmes-Lestrade?”

Their hands linking, sharing a pleasant warmth, Mycroft hugged Greg close to his body, ”Yes, indeed.”


End file.
